


[Reject Hyperion]

by HyperionScience



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 4 Spoilers, Character Study, Emotions, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not really shippy? A little shippy?, Tales from the Borderlands, idk really, sorta?, tagging is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 21:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7730332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyperionScience/pseuds/HyperionScience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And even now, far away from the shattered glass and the flaming debris, the scent of flesh a faint whisper of a memory somewhere behind his nose, he couldn't bring himself to destroy the man who had wrought so much misery. Why is that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	[Reject Hyperion]

**Author's Note:**

> I knew that I was going to write something as soon as I had Rhys pocket the Echo Eye. I am weak. 
> 
> Writing this before writing the story, so... I know it's not going to be super shippy, but there is something there for sure (Interpret it however you like, really. Tagging to be safe.) We'll see. Just finished my first playthrough last night (8-8-16) and I am having too many feelings for one human being to handle. This is the overflow. You're welcome everyone.
> 
> Pretty much a Rhys character study detailing my take on what happened before he was kidnapped.

 

**[Reject Hyperion]**

 

 

 "Rhys, please! I'm on my knees here!"  

 

 He reached into his coat pocket, once again pulling out the blue disk, paper thin and the size of a dime. He had been disgusted by it at first, though not so much so as to actually destroy it, and now it hardly phased him that a short time ago it had been wired through his head. He wasn't sure why he kept it around, especially given how everything had gone down, but he couldn't quite bring himself to destroy the last piece of what his life had been, shitty as it had been. His gaze followed the long bronze cable, and he watched the way it tumbled towards the ground, finding himself oddly transfixed by the way it dangled there, with nowhere to go anymore. He wondered if Jack was still in there somewhere, and wondered why he wondered, then put the eye back into his pocket with a hand that was strangely shaky. He thought back on Jack's dying words. They hadn't impacted him much that day since he had barely been able to hear anything other than the sound of his heart in his chest, let alone convince his body, screaming in pain and falling apart, to understand any of it.

 

 "There's nothing... There's absolutely nothing there. Please, don't do this"

 

_Nothing would be too good for you_ , He thought bitterly, letting his anger wash over him as he remembered the way he had begged him. His feelings had been mixed, he admitted to himself now, until jack had got to his knees. Everything he had built him up to me, everything he idolized was torn away in that moment, and whether it was genuine bargaining or a ploy he couldn't stand it. He had watched Jack fall apart before his eyes, and somewhere inside he resented him for that. Some part of him wanted to cling to the hero, the Jack that had helped him, that had believed in him, that had maybe even cared about him. He shook his head, standing alone in the tiny office of the abandoned Atlas building that he had claimed as his own. Jack hadn't cared about anything but himself, even at the end, surrounded by the ruins of the company he had owned, the lives he had once played with. 

 And even now, far away from the shattered glass and the flaming debris, the scent of flesh a faint whisper of a memory somewhere behind his nose, he couldn't bring himself to destroy the man who had wrought so much misery.  _Why is that?_  

 Somewhere in his mind he felt the thought, distant and fuzzy, underwater, or perhaps coming in through static. It managed to sound like him, and the imagined presence in his head was almost comforting, in a strange way that he let wander through his mind like a fine wine on the palette. He would never admit, even to himself, when he was alone in the dark lying awake in the too still night, that he missed him. Despite this, he did miss him, even through the trouble, the threats, the berating. He closed his eyes, letting the memory of that smug voice wash over him, praising him for all of the good he had done. He let himself be interrupted by the distant feeling of a cold, metal grip around his neck. He flexed the fingers of his right hand and felt relieved as they tapped against his leg, remembering that first night when he had woken up from a restless and disturbed sleep with his own hand squeezing his neck as if Jack had found some way to hack into his flesh and blood. He realized with a shudder that he might have, as the man, the legend, the hero, was now living rent-free inside his brain in a way entirely different and more disconcerting than before. 

 He let his hand drift into his pocket again, and he held the echo eye between his thumb and his forefinger. This time, he thought, he would really do it. End it. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if this thing fell into the wrong hands. He remembered that there may not be any wrong hands left. He wondered, absently, if he had the wrong hands. Jack had seemed to think so. He wondered if that had been a ploy as well. Had anyone said an honest thing since he left Helios? The adventure was lie after lie, from Yvette, from Jack,  _From yourself,_ he thought, and he tightened his jaw, sitting down in the old, musty, molding desk chair with a frown. He ran his fingers over the surface, feeling how smooth it was on one side, the gentle ridges of the nanotech on the front. On the count of three.   

 One.  

 He focused elsewhere, trying to push the implications of it all out of his mind. It wasn't murder if he was already dead, right? He wouldn't feel anything, he was lines of code and nothing more.

 Two. 

 Even if it was murder, wasn't it for the greater good? Jack was a terrible man, a liar and a killer, a genocidal maniac, and he had used him. He had tried to kill him. It was personal. Nobody would blame him for it, not on Pandora.

 Three.

 His hand fell to his desk, and he let the lens tumble out of his loose grip and onto the polished metal. It looked up at him judgmentally. His mind took a sudden turn to the memory of Vasquez's face, and he swiveled around, spilling his guts onto the cold floor. Of all the things that had happened, of all the injuries, that would always be the worst thing. He stood up and left the office, leaving the eye behind after dwelling on it for way too long. 

 

 The halls of the old Atlas building were quiet now, and they had been for a long time. As he passed certain doors he could hear the faint whirr of machines working into the night, keeping the fabrication of Atlas goods going deep into the night. He wondered if he was on a road to hell paved with good intentions, if he was destined to repeat the same mistakes he already had, and he remembered telling Jack that night in the crumbling, smoldering remains of his office that that would be the last time. It was the last time in so many ways. He felt the pain shoot up his arm, his right one, and he rubbed at his shoulder where flesh met metal in a gesture that soothed him for some reason. He waited for the pain to die down, and found that it didn't. He sighed and leaned against a wall for some sense of support. He wished Vaughn was there with him for the thousandth time. He would crush that stupid contact lens, not to mention help him feel a lot better about all of this. How long had it been? A month, at least, since he had left with Cassius and presumably died sometime thereafter. He swore, out loud, leaning heavily against the wall. He could have done something. He thought of Yvette and swore again. Everyone he had known at Hyperion was dead, leaving him the only survivor of a terrible, deserved disaster. 

 Of course, Sasha and Fiona had escaped. Without him. He felt something ugly and sickening rise inside of him, a terrible feeling of betrayal and loathing that coursed through him as if it were in his blood. He had given up everything for them, and they had left him for dead with a psychopath who was out for blood.  

 God, he missed them. He missed Vaughn. He even missed Jack.  

 And like that, it was out in the open, almost like a presence in the room with him, his shame and his guilt nearly palpable. He hated it, he hated himself, he hated that Jack was still his hero after all this time. The hollow sound of machines buzzed through the hallway, filling his empty ears with their mechanical drone. Sure, he was proud of the work he had done here but what did it matter now? There was nobody left to enjoy it with him. He thought of Vaughn again, and everything he had promised so long ago, that the two of them, the three of them, really, would live the good life. He had let him down.  _This is the last time,_ he thought,  _This is the last time I let anyone down._

 His mind wandered back to Jack, and he inhaled sharply, shaking his head to get rid of the unsavory taste it left in his mouth. He must be sick, somehow, to miss the voice of that man in his head. He must be stupid to feel bad about killing him. He recalled something he had read about Stockholm syndrome and wondered if that was it, that his strange desire to please Jack had been to ensure his survival. But that didn't change before, it didn't change how he idolized him, how he swallowed up the Hyperion propaganda and let it fuel him in his fast-paced rise to power. Maybe it was something else entirely. He tried not to dwell on it. Jack was gone. He had what he wanted, in some ass-backwards way that meant he didn't have it at all. He missed the adventure, the thrill, that voice in his head that guided him. He missed Vaughn. He missed Sasha. He even missed Fiona. 

 And as much as it hurt to admit it, he missed Jack.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, it's done! Ok, so... I know it isn't shippy but I really like the relationship dynamic between them without romance. Tagging the ship anyways because I think it is pretty crucial, even if I have left it a little up for interpretation.   
> Comments are always welcome! :)


End file.
